


Three Weeks

by berlynn_wohl



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Body Worship, First Time, Frottage, M/M, Oral Sex, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-12
Updated: 2016-02-12
Packaged: 2018-05-20 00:10:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5985769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/berlynn_wohl/pseuds/berlynn_wohl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the fall, Will gets a little frustrated about his temporary physical limitations. But Hannibal is there to help him out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Weeks

The entire time, as he lathers and rinses himself, Will watches for a shadow on the other side of the shower curtain. 

Hannibal had suggested to him, “Take a nice, long shower tonight. We’ll have to get our start before dawn tomorrow, and I don’t know when we’ll have access to hot water again.” 

While this is sensible advice, Will has a feeling that Hannibal’s encouraging him to get in the shower is a preliminary step in a seduction – thus his watching for Hannibal’s shadow to appear just before he pulls the curtain back to join Will in a steamy, soapy embrace. 

But Hannibal makes no such advance, and after fifteen minutes, Will shuts off the water. The pipes groan. He climbs carefully out of the tub; it’s a claw-foot, so the step down is greater than one anticipates. 

If Hannibal was going to make his move, it would have to have been tonight, or else he’d be waiting days, maybe weeks longer. (There would be no mid-flight seduction, rolling around on the forest floor, for these two sore and aching middle-aged men only recently free of their sutures.) Is Will disappointed about Hannibal’s failure to act? He’s not sure. He really needs Hannibal to initiate something, before he can determine exactly what he wants. 

Will’s right shoulder is still healing; Hannibal has taken the stitches out, but it continues to throb, and he has limited movement in his right arm. The slightest twitch, even of one fingertip, resonates up to his wound, but what is truly painful is moving the shoulder itself. He has to be careful not to swing it too much when he walks; forget about lifting his arm above his head. Between Chiyoh’s bullet and the Dragon’s knife, it’s a wonder he can use it at all. Hannibal has promised to help him with some physical therapy, but it will be a long time before he regains whatever range of motion he will have left. 

In the shower, this was not such a problem. He could do enough scrubbing with his left arm and hand. Getting dressed is where it gets frustrating. It’s warm enough in this place that he can often do without a shirt, but other times, Hannibal helps him. He’s fed up with that, being dependent, and he decides it’s time to achieve complete self-sufficiency. 

When he exits the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, Hannibal is sitting up in bed – the bed they’ve been sharing out of necessity, sleeping back to back every night – reading a book. He watches Will approach the pile of their remaining unpacked possessions and lift from it, with his left hand, a pair of pajama bottoms and a t-shirt, which he takes back into the bathroom. He has been naked in front of Hannibal before, but he still chooses to change clothes in another room. Even so, he only closes the bathroom door halfway, just enough to conceal himself. 

He gets the pajama bottoms on easily enough, but he struggles with the t-shirt. He gets his right arm into the sleeve, pushes it up to his armpit, then lifts his left arm to the sleeve, then pulls the shirt over his head with his left arm, only to wince and cry out in pain, as the twist of his neck pulls at his shoulder. 

Will’s sharp curse catches Hannibal’s attention, and he leaps from the bed and to Will’s side, asking permission to assist him. “I could have powered through it!” Will snaps. He knows Hannibal means well, but he can’t help his indignation. “I don’t like being a burden on someone.” 

Hannibal gets the shirt off Will and turns it right-side-out again. “You’re not a burden—” 

“We’re about to make another run for it, and I can’t even dress myself,” Will grumbles. 

“I told you I would take care of everything,” Hannibal says mildly, working the shirt back up both Will’s lowered arms. 

“But what if things don’t go according to your plan?” When Hannibal pulls the collar of the shirt over Will’s head, he sees that Will’s face has gone pink with embarrassment and frustration. “I can’t climb. I can’t fight. I can’t carry anything. Hell, I haven’t even been able to jerk off properly in three weeks—”

Why did he say that? He bites his tongue, but it is too late. Hannibal tugs down the hem of the shirt, smooths down the fabric over Will’s left shoulder and then down his chest. “I can help you with that, too. If you would like me to.” 

There’s not a lot of shock or indignation going on here. They both know things were headed this way. Still, Will considers the situation, their surroundings. A quick handjob in the bathroom was not what he was expecting from Hannibal, but he just does not have the energy to worry about it. His nods his assent. 

But instead, Hannibal directs him back to the bedroom, gesturing for him to sit at the edge of the bed. Will does this, while Hannibal kneels down before him. 

“Lie back,” Hannibal instructs. He helps Will do so, lifting his right arm to place it gently on his chest, hand over his heart. After confirming that he is comfortable, Hannibal grabs Will’s pajama bottoms at the waist and tugs them down. He leaves Will’s shirt, perhaps because they went to so much trouble to get it on in the first place. 

He nuzzles Will’s cock and balls, enjoying just their scent to begin with, clean but still musky. He waits for Will to get fully hard under the heat of his breath, the brush of his lips, before kissing the first fat droplet from the tip and then opening his mouth to take Will inside. 

Hannibal’s tongue works lavishly, nothing dutiful about it. He isn’t swallowing his spit; he lets it get loud and sloppy. Hannibal lacks precision only when he means to lack it, for reckless enthusiasm has its charm, as well. Will thinks to himself that Hannibal is sucking him like he’s _delicious_ , and he supposes that to Hannibal, he is. 

Then Will feels something odd, something rigid sliding up into Hannibal’s mouth alongside his cock. He looks down to see Hannibal removing it – his index finger – and slipping it between Will’s thighs, exploring until he finds his hole. 

Will yelps when he feels it probing. “No more than that,” he says. “I only like a little bit of that.” 

Perhaps surprisingly, Hannibal respects his wishes, does not push his limits, and just the wiggling tip of his finger makes Will squirm with delight, while Hannibal’s tongue in the slit of his cock makes him coo and moan. 

All of this soon becomes too much, and Will cries out, “Okay, I’m gonna come, I’m gonna…” Moments later, he begins to shake uncontrollably as he is consumed by pleasure. Gripping the sheets with his left hand, he looks down to watch Hannibal swallowing down his three weeks of pent-up frustration. 

Letting Will’s soft, spent cock slip from his mouth, Hannibal rests his head against Will’s thigh, feeling the pulse against his cheek as it slows. 

“I want to do something for you now,” Will says hoarsely as his breathing returns to normal. He pats the mattress next to him. “Come up here and I’ll get you right back.” 

Hannibal chuckles softly, but does not take Will up on his offer, not precisely. He encourages Will to rotate his body, to lie properly on the bed and make himself nice and comfortable while Hannibal undresses. When Will is settled in, Hannibal climbs atop him, his knees on either side of Will’s knees. He pushes Will’s shirt up, high enough that the hem rubs against his nipples. Then he bends down to admire closely the pink, gently curving scar across Will’s belly. His face lights up, as if just seeing it is reward enough for his efforts this evening. 

Hannibal’s breath tickles the fine hairs around Will’s belly button, and then his tongue emerges and he runs the tip of it lightly across the length of the scar. Will utters a soft, bewildered grunt, which Hannibal ignores as he proceeds to press warm, wet kisses to his work, worshiping it with his mouth. This is something Hannibal has wanted to do for a very long time. 

If Will is perplexed by this unrestrained adoration, he is positively stunned by what Hannibal does next: scooting up so his knees are now astride Will’s hips, Hannibal plants one hand on the pillow next to Will’s head, and holds his prick with the other. Will gets a good look; it is sleek and taut, thick and uncut. Hannibal presses the wet tip of it to the edge of Will’s scar, then begins to lightly rub it across the line of pink tissue, leaving a glossy streak along the length of it. 

“Is it still tender?” Hannibal asks. 

“No,” Will breathes. “Not anymore.” 

Taking this as permission, Hannibal presses harder, sliding more of the head along the scar. He gradually does less and less directing with his hand, as he does more and more with his hips, dropping down so he can push the whole length against Will’s flesh, pressing it between Will’s belly and his own. Will looks down, watches the wet, coral tip emerge, then retreat, then emerge, as Hannibal shoves against him, with the occasional thrust being accompanied by a little shudder of particular ecstasy. The hair on his chest and belly tickles Will a little. 

Hannibal’s groans and cries become desperate and ecstatic; he is out of control in a way that Will has never seen before. But Will wishes to do still more for him. He thinks about what he likes, and imagines that Hannibal might like it, too. So he wets his middle finger in his mouth, then reaches, down Hannibal’s back and farther, and pushes the wet fingertip against his hole, pressing in slightly. The moment he feels it, Hannibal utters a monumental blasphemy and begins to climax immediately. Will looks down, watches the volleys of come erupt between their bellies, as Hannibal quakes atop him. 

Hannibal wavers, his limbs shivering, but he does not allow himself to collapse upon Will, for fear of jarring his shoulder. He does let this head fall forward, so that he may kiss Will on the mouth. It feels nice, but odd, to Will; they’re doing things in the wrong order. 

When he can summon up the means, Hannibal raises himself, lifts himself away from Will’s embrace. He takes a moment to get his fill of the sight of that lovely scar tissue streaked with semen, then goes to the bathroom for a cloth with which to clean them both. He tenderly washes Will’s skin, and after the wet cloth cools, uses it on himself, and returns it to the bathroom before getting into bed. He lies alongside Will, waiting for an invitation to draw near again. Will gestures with his good arm, and Hannibal scoots up close enough to place a gentle kiss to Will’s injured shoulder. 

Will looks at the clock on the wall. “Do we really have to leave in five hours?” 

Hannibal considers this, then sighs softly, “We would probably be alright if we stayed here for just one more day.”


End file.
